


I Just Want You For My Own

by PanBoleyn



Series: Proof of Concept 2.0 [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Scheming Best Friends, Slice of Life, mentioned Brian/Nigel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: Two years on from the Monster mess, Quentin and Eliot have settled into a happy, fairly quiet life. And this year, they both have a great idea for how to cap off the holiday season...The thing is, it's the same idea.(Sequel toShine Through My Memory)
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Proof of Concept 2.0 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587694
Comments: 31
Kudos: 194





	I Just Want You For My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> As ever, thanks to Maii for looking over my draft, thanks to all my fandom friends across platforms - and thanks to all of you, for reading my stories. Let's keep our favorite nerd alive and let our boys be happy in the new year, yeah?

Technically, this is the first time Eliot’s gone ring shopping - well. Gone ring shopping for someone not himself. In Fillory, in another life entirely, Quentin had been the one to get the rings, he’d been the one to ask Eliot to marry him, nervous but steady on a summer night when Teddy was staying at a friend’s. 

That’s one reason Eliot wants to be the one to ask this time, actually. It feels like it should be him, this time.

Of course, in a way, he has done this part, the shopping, before. Or rather, Nigel had. Eliot could have used the same ring if he’d wanted, but he doesn’t want to. A ring meant for Brian shouldn’t be for Quentin, it's a cop-out. So he’d used it to get Quentin’s ring size and then sold it, trying to be practical about it all. It really didn’t suit Quentin anyway - the blue stones were set around the entire ring, the band had been wide, heavy. Brian, of course, had worn his school ring for years by then (or remembered doing so, anyway), and was used to it. But Quentin… 

Eliot remembers how light their copper wedding rings had felt, to him. He knows that’s the kind of ring Quentin’s used to, and that’s the kind of ring he’s hoping to find. 

He remembers being alone when he did this as Nigel, fiddling nervously with Brian’s school ring and studying the rings on offer like a new piece of sheet music. They’re strange, the Nigel-memories - it’s been two years but Eliot is still not at ease with them the way Quentin is with having been Brian. It’s not upsetting anymore, but it feels less like his memories than like he… has access to someone else’s. 

There’s a thing on one of Quentin’s sci-fi shows, Star-something-or-other. Eliot’s pretty sure it’s not a Trek show, at least, there’s fewer spaceships around and more walking through what looks like a portal-making device. But whatever it’s called, Eliot remembers Quentin watching an episode where the military guy turned out to have been sharing memories with… a barber? He thinks? Something like that, he mostly spent the episode trying to distract Quentin so they could do things more fun than watching TV. 

But as an analogy, it works as well as anything else for how Nigel’s memories feel to Eliot. Like glimpses into someone else’s life, sometimes a pleasant thing and sometimes uncomfortable, but never really him.

Anyway, while he knows that the ring Nigel bought for Brian wouldn’t suit Quentin at all, Eliot still isn’t exactly sure what kind of engagement ring _would_ suit Quentin. For the most part, he has a good handle on Q’s aesthetics by now, but Q doesn’t wear jewelry, normally. And Eliot doesn’t want to just find a copper ring either - he feels like this, now, should be different from who they used to be, whether in another lifetime or while under a memory spell. 

So he enlists backup. 

“Quentin did actually have a jewelry phase in high school,” Julia says thoughtfully when they meet up at a Starbucks. Her silver eyes are usually hidden in public by blue contacts these days. Eliot suspects this is a deliberate choice to remind everyone - or maybe herself - that she’s different even though the blue makes her look fully human. “It was part of the same phase where we kept dyeing our hair with Kool-Aid.” 

“Kool-Aid, really?” Eliot asks, sipping his peppermint mocha and eyeing Julia suspiciously. 

“It works surprisingly well. Smells much nicer than real dyes, too,” Julia says. Her coffee began as a gingerbread latte, but she had them add pumps of roughly three more flavors to it, and she’d told Eliot blithely that when she springs for Starbucks, she wants it to be actually worth the overpricing. 

Which, OK, fair. 

“Of course it does, it’s sugar and food dye,” Eliot says now. “However, if you have pictures, I need them later. For now, tell me more about this jewelry phase.” 

Quentin’s ‘jewelry phase’, surprising no one ever, was heavy on nerdy jewelry, including both Tolkien and Fillory replicas of necklaces and rings. Eliot thinks he’s actually seen the One Ring replica Quentin apparently wore for half of tenth grade in the little box where Quentin’s hairties live. That doesn’t really help Eliot, though, because while he’s sure there are nerdy engagement rings out there, that doesn’t feel right. 

Quentin would, he thinks, get a kick out of it if Eliot presented him with, say, a lightsaber necklace or whatever as a gift, and he might just do that sometime for the look on his face. But for an engagement ring, it doesn’t feel right for either of them. 

What does help is - 

“Truthfully, half the time, he went for replicas of, I don’t know, stuff women wore, because all the guy shit was huge, and he didn’t like how it felt on his hands,” Julia says as they consider a display case of rings. “So most of these are a no-go from the start. Also, he thinks diamonds are boring.” 

Eliot sort of thinks diamonds are boring too - or white ones, at least. So it’s no hardship to steer his attention away from those to various colored stones. The main problem is finding a ring in mens’ sizes that isn’t a wide heavy band, especially when he’s also looking for one with a stone. He decides against rubies or amethysts, considers a pretty jade ring for ten minutes before deciding that jade is not right for an engagement ring. Mystic topaz is very nice, and Eliot makes a mental note that he might want a ring with that stone for himself one day and Margo would definitely love a necklace or bracelet, but it doesn’t seem to suit for Quentin. 

At the third store they try, though, a ring finally catches his eye. It’s actually a little bit like the ring Nigel bought, which almost gives him pause, but subtler. A silver band, narrow for a man’s ring, emerald and sapphire, two of each in a blue-green-blue-green pattern set into a groove in the band. He can see it on Quentin’s hand as easily as he remembers engraved copper sitting there, and that decides the issue, doesn’t it.

They don’t have one in stock in Quentin’s size, but a quick check turns up one at the branch of the store in Philadelphia, so if Eliot can come back in a few days, they’ll have it for him. Eliot agrees, and while he’s paying, fails to notice Julia snapping a picture of the ring on her phone.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Quentin sips his cinnamon latte nervously, tapping his foot. Maybe the caffeine wasn’t such a hot idea, but he’s been dealing with a bout of insomnia lately, so he needs it. Still, he doesn’t know what’s taking Margo so long on her phone. 

“OK!” she says, sliding her phone back into her pocket. “I think I have the perfect idea.” 

Normally, Quentin might ask what on Margo’s phone would tip her off about something like this. Today he’s not pushing his luck because, well. Jewelry shopping isn’t exactly his thing, is it? He hasn’t worn any since high school, and the only time he bought any, well. 

In the part of Fillory where they’d lived, in another lifetime, copper rings were the only choice for wedding rings, it was expected and traditional. That had been easy to follow through with. This time, though, buying an engagement ring that Eliot will actually like is more than a little daunting. So when Margo said she was coming for a visit, Quentin jumped at the chance to get her help. 

Eliot is running some errand of his own today, and Alex is covering Quentin’s classes at the Den, so it’s the perfect time for Quentin to go ring shopping. All he had to do was pay Margo in lunch and Starbucks to get her help. Not a bad deal, all things considered. 

Although how she can drink an eggnog latte, he has _no_ idea.

“So, El doesn’t like diamonds much,” Margo says, hooking her arm through Quentin’s as they head down the sidewalk. “Thinks they’re boring. His favorite’s opal - you probably guessed that - but you don’t want an engagement ring to look just like his other rings. So, I’m thinking sapphire and emerald in silver. They go well together, they’ll catch the eye enough for an engagement ring, and it’ll be different from his usual jewelry. But it won’t clash either.” 

“All right,” Quentin says. 

They go to four different stores before he finds the right ring. Margo lets him look, which he’s glad of - he did want advice, but he wants to actually pick the ring himself. He’s done it before, after all, even if it was easier then. But a lot of things were easier, or at least simpler, in that life. It doesn’t mean he can’t do them again in busy modern New York City, it just means recalibrating sometimes. 

Brian? Well, he hadn’t been thinking about marriage yet, although he would have said yes if Nigel had gotten the chance to ask the question that went with the ring Quentin found during the worst part of the Monster fiasco. But he was just enough of a traditionalist that he probably would have gone for an old-school diamond in any case, or both their birthstones if he’d been in a more romantic mood.

Quentin’s gaze lands on a ring that happens to be set with those two birthstones, amused by the coincidence. That’s when he notices that the ring next to that one is emerald and sapphire. It’s actually fairly simple, he thinks as he picks it up for a closer look. An oval emerald in silver, and to either side two little sapphires inset into the band.

He waves Margo over from where she’d been browsing a case of necklaces, presumably for herself - although he and Eliot have a theory about her and Fen these days, so who knows. “What do you think?” he asks, holding it up. Luckily, it’s already in Eliot’s size, which makes it seem like a sign. 

“I think it’s perfect. He’ll love it,” Margo says, and there’s something about her smile that almost makes Quentin nervous. There’s mischief there - but Margo wouldn’t steer him wrong for something like this, so it’s probably some kind of private joke. He’ll find out eventually or he won’t. 

The important thing is that there’s a ring in his pocket when he leaves the store, and he’s going to ask Eliot to marry him on New Year’s Day. 

The other important thing is that he has to hide this ring until then, but Eliot never goes in his drawing kit, so that’s already handled.

<><><>

  
  


A week later, Eliot comes home with the ring tucked away in his pocket. The box feels like it’s burning a literal hole there. Which is stupid, because it’s his coat pocket - his coat being the only garment loose enough that the lump won’t show. “Q? You home?” he calls, hanging his coat up in the closet by the door. Chaya is curled on the couch but she hops up at the sound of his voice, racing over to twine around his ankles. Since she is no longer a kitten and huge for a cat, this is not exactly the safest habit for her humans. Eliot, used to it by now, grabs the doorknob to steady himself. 

“You are too big for that now, girl, honestly,” he scolds, but it’s half-hearted at best. When their cat finally lets him go, he wanders down the hallway in search of Quentin. 

He’s at his desk in the office, wearing the green-lensed glasses he has for seeing magic as he works. Eliot leans on the doorframe and watches Quentin curl his fingers, bringing pieces of something black and shiny together until they form a globe. It lands lightly in Quentin’s hand, and he wraps it in a bit of cloth before looking up. “Oh, hey, sorry. I heard you but I couldn’t break my concentration. Your errand go well?” he asks as he takes off his glasses and gets up, crossing the distance between them. 

He leans up to kiss Eliot, a soft almost chaste hello kiss, but it’s Eliot who pulls him in for a real one. And, yes, he knows he’s acting a little odd, but Quentin is smiling when they break apart so he thinks he’s gotten away with it. “It went perfectly,” he says. “What were you up to?” 

“Oh, it’s - I had this idea, actually. I’m not sure it’s going to work, but you know how I’ve been talking to Sunderland lately?”

Eliot does know; it’s a little odd given that two years ago, Quentin had happily burned his invitation back to Brakebills and now he’s talking to the assistant dean, but Eliot always figured an explanation would be coming eventually. “Been working on something with her then?” 

“Yeah. I was thinking, all those tests for disciplines, right? They’re so… like, they take a ton of time. And then Mayakovsky’s method is just fucking weird, I went over that with her too. But anyway, I was thinking, what if it could at least be narrowed down to category? That would streamline the process a little, wouldn’t it?” 

“I guess it would,” Eliot agrees, tugging Quentin toward the kitchen and depositing him at the table. “So the black globe’s, what, a detection thing?” 

“It will be, if all the rounds of spellwork hold. It’s going to be tricky. But what it’ll do is narrow down the type so, like, take me. Sunderland said she was pretty sure I was physical something, and she was right, but the tests aren’t designed to tell basics that way. This, if it works, will get that part out of the way, and then whoever’s doing the discipline testing can tailor their approach.” 

It actually sounds pretty interesting, Eliot decides as Quentin goes on to explain more about the spells he’s thinking to use. Not all of Quentin’s projects are - Eliot enjoys listening to him ramble on about them the same way he enjoys all of Quentin’s rambles about things he enjoys, from their cat to that new TV show based on some book series or other. But he isn’t always interested in the _topic_. This one, though, he’s kind of into. “Do you want me to look over your circumstances? What made you decide on obsidian, anyway?” 

“Oh, that was Evie - remember her, the hedge whose thing is stones like Margo’s is ice? She said she uses obsidian for scrying, and I thought, well, this is in that family, seeing things, probably my best bet. And yeah, would you? You’re better at magicking objects when they’re not being mended or put together in the first place.” 

“That’s why I offered,” Eliot says easily, because it’s true. Like Quentin, he’d sort of fallen into a job, beginning with that spell Margo found to enchant mirrors to talk. It had annoyed Eliot, the distortions in audio and visual, so he’d started looking into communication spells. At the same time he’d been looking into wards because the downside to moving out of Kady’s penthouse had been the lack of protection outside its walls. He’d started noticing certain similarities between warding a dwelling and the mirror spells - sort of an equal/opposite thing, one pushing away and one pulling in - and that had just snowballed. 

These days, his specialties outside his telekinesis are warding and putting communication spells on objects that have better reception than the highest-end webcams or phones. Everyone likes the latter in particular, from classical magicians to hedges, and Alice even hired him for three months to upgrade stuff at the Library back in the spring. Not Eliot’s favorite work environment, especially since he was staying there, but Quentin came too for some repair jobs so it was acceptable.

He’s currently trying to figure out how to mix communication spells _with_ cell phones and computers, but that’s going slower given how magic and tech don’t always get along. Kady’s been saying she’s going to put him in touch with Harriet, and Alice said the same, but schedules haven’t aligned yet.

The best thing is that Quentin’s taken an interest in crafting magic, building with magic as well as the mending that is his discipline, so they get to work together on things that catch both their interest. Cooperative magic is nice with anyone; with Quentin, even when it’s small, it’s _amazing_. 

So they’ll figure out how to make this scheme of Q’s work, he’s sure of that. Scrying isn’t that far from communication either, and from what Quentin’s said Eliot already has a couple spells in mind. “You’re really gonna give Sunderland first crack at it, once it’s put together?” he asks. “Won’t Kady object?” 

“Brakebills gets it at the same time as the Den,” Quentin says firmly, using the name Kady’s safehouse/school picked up in its first month of existence. “It’s only fair, since Sunderland is helping me develop the concept but I work for Kady.”

“Oh, of course, entirely fair,” Eliot says, mock-solemnly, laughing when Quentin makes a face at him. “Speaking of the Den, though, how were the baby hedges today? Anyone get approval for a new star?”

If listening to Quentin ramble about his projects is always fun, listening to him talk about his students is just painfully endearing. Quentin loves teaching, for all he sort of stumbled into it; he’s the kind of teacher who gets as pleased by a student’s success as if it were his own. So Eliot makes dinner while Quentin chatters and sets the table, and of course Chaya comes in to meow pitifully until they cave and give her scraps. 

“We really do spoil her,” Quentin says with a wry smile. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eliot deadpans, even though he’s very well aware he just slipped Chaya a bit of chicken under the table. Quentin didn’t see him, so technically he doesn’t know anything, even if he suspects.

Later, while Quentin is on the phone with Kady about one of his students, Eliot takes the opportunity to fetch the ring from his coat pocket. Quentin never goes into his jewelry box, so Eliot hides it with his own stuff. He has a plan for New Year’s Eve, and it would suck if Quentin managed to find out before then. He’s already shown he can find hidden rings, best not to take the chance. 

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Quentin’s always loved the fall and the winter, both. He knows a lot of people’s depression gets worse when the days get shorter, but that’s never been him. Night soothes him more than daylight, always has - he likes sunlight and blue skies (loves most of all the sight of autumn leaves against a blue sky) but if he had to pick he’d take night skies strewn with stars, or even the starless city nights when the noise never really stops but does soften.

Also, he likes layers, and it’s so much easier to layer when the weather is cool to cold. Since Brian, his cold tolerance has gotten even better, because Brian was from Boston. But Brian didn’t like the cold, he just lived with it. Quentin finds his mood taking at least the hint of an upswing at the first hint of chill in the air. 

So it really shouldn’t surprise anyone that Quentin loves ice skating, unless the surprise is him liking any kind of skating at all. But funnily enough, he learned to ice skate before he learned to roller skate, because there was an ice skating rink closer to his house than a roller skating one. It comes more easily, and it always makes him feel just a little like a kid. 

Especially at an open-air rink near a Christmas market in Bryant Park, snow flurries in the air as if summoned for the season. 

“Do we have a weather witch around, do you think?” Eliot murmurs in Quentin’s ear, and Quentin laughs as they go round the curve. Eliot, he found out last year when they were both steady on their feet again, is also good at ice skating, and they match their paces here as easily as when walking, even managing to usually hold hands.

“Nah, I think it’s just holiday luck.” But there is something in the air. Magic is like that sometimes now, a little wilder than it used to be. Alice says that it’s because magic came back up the day Kady shot Everett, and because he’d taken magic from multiple worlds, it all came back mixed together. Some days even now, magic feels more otherworldly than usual, and that’s why. There _is_ an extra bite to the air that isn’t December chill, and one look at Eliot tells Quentin he feels it too. 

“I like it when it’s like this,” Eliot says, speeding up a little. “Don’t you?” 

“Most of the time. Except when it leads to weird accidents, like that time I ended up with a student turning me into a cat.” 

“Oh, but you were a very cute cat,” Eliot teases. “Granted, Chaya was furious at having to share her territory, so it’s a good thing it wore off after twenty-four hours.” 

“I’m glad _someone_ was amused, Eliot. You know I do still have pictures of the neon orange hair incident, I could show those to Margo next time I see her.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

“Oh, wouldn’t I,” Quentin says, smiling innocently when Eliot looks at him with narrowed eyes. He wouldn’t, probably, but that’s only because Eliot absolutely has equally devastating blackmail material on him. One secret to a happy relationship in the 21st century? Or at least between a pair of dramatic magicians with equally dramatic friends. 

It works, regardless, so Quentin has learned not to poke at it too much. That’s why there’s a ring in his drawing kit, isn’t there?

  
  


<><><>

  
  


If it were up to Eliot, he’d veto Carla and Molly’s Christmas party, two days before the holiday itself. Quentin is always tense as hell for days before, gearing up for an evening in the same room as his mother. Chaya, who has a sixth sense for when one of them is upset, is basically glued to Quentin’s side even as they get ready. Only a charm against cat hair saves Quentin’s black dress pants, which is good because his mother would nag about it. 

Eliot comes up behind him, resting his chin on Quentin’s head and wrapping his arms around his waist, studying them both in the mirror. “We really could just stay home. You hate it, I hate it, and one of these years I really am going to cast a silencing spell on your mother or hex your stepmother’s eyebrows off, which would leave us with _so_ much explaining to do.”

Quentin leans back against Eliot’s chest, closing his eyes. Eliot frowns now that Quentin can’t see; his little nerd might be relaxed in his arms, but lines of stress are still all over his face. “I know, but I do like my cousins, and they’ll all be there. At least she can’t criticize my clothes anymore, thanks to you.”

“There is that,” Eliot agrees with a laugh. Mostly he doesn’t try to steer Quentin away from the comfortable clothes he loves - better quality versions of those clothes and a little bit of nudging on colors, yes, but that’s all - but for dressing up, he’d meddled a bit more. The result is still nothing like Eliot’s elaborate outfits, but dress pants and shirts that fit, in colors that look good, have enough effect that Quentin’s ever-critical mother hasn’t had anything to say. 

Well, not about that. She always finds something. 

“Anyway, it’s just one night, and it saves me from getting guilt-tripped at random intervals, which is honestly so much worse,” Quentin continues. “And we get to spend the actual holiday with our real family. I think that’s better, don’t you?” 

_I wish you didn’t think we had to play nice at all,_ Eliot thinks, but he doesn’t say it, because he knows Quentin isn’t like that. Eliot isn’t honestly certain what he thinks about Carla Ryan. She isn’t always nasty, her wife tends to be worse than she is, but even her compliments have a sting in the tail most of the time. Eliot gets the impression she thinks that’s what parents are supposed to do. Meanwhile Quentin’s own feelings are so tangled up that he says he can’t explain them to himself, much less verbalize them to Eliot. But there’s still enough there that it matters somehow. 

Eliot doesn’t get it, but he respects it - and Quentin’s only comment about any contact with his family to date is that time he walked in on Quentin and Margo discussing the logistics of sending a hex through the Postal Service after one of his brothers cropped up on Margo’s Instagram. So it's all worked out so far.

“Yeah, it’s better,” he says. “Oh, by the way, speaking of our actual family, that hedge clinic Kady mentioned, down in Baltimore? They called me back, I’m heading down on January 12th to check out their wards. Shouldn’t be too big a job unless they’ve been shredding their spells. But you never know.” 

“I’ll put it on the calendar,” Quentin says lightly, and then he pulls gently away from Eliot to go get their coats.

The truth is that the party is a catch-22, really. Their first Christmas together, after… everything, they didn’t go, and Quentin worked himself into a a guilt spiral over it. Last year, they went and it set off a panic attack in the rental car afterwards. But maybe it’ll be different this year. 

And, actually, it is. This is mostly due to Quentin deciding to be babysitter for the night. Eliot has to laugh, watching him on the floor with his cousins’ kids, teaching them Muggle card tricks. It’s funny and endearing as hell, and if it aches somewhere deep in his chest because he remembers Quentin teaching Teddy the same thing - and also teaching Teddy how to cheat at cards, then laughing when their twelve-year-old proceeded to scam the hell out of Eliot - that’s all right. 

It’s like that sometimes, Eliot’s come to understand. And maybe, one day… 

Their lives are so not suited to children, and they themselves are too fucked up, still, for it. But watching Quentin with the kids, something in Eliot says _someday,_ and he thinks of the ring hidden in with his jewelry back home. Yeah, someday.

“Doesn’t it bother you, having a boyfriend who spends his time playing with children?” 

“Hello, Molly, how are you?” Eliot says, turning to Quentin’s stepmother with his best Brakebills King bitch smile. Eliot is, occasionally, willing to give Carla the benefit of the doubt that she _thinks_ she’s helping her son by lecturing him half to death. Molly is a different story. “No, it doesn’t bother me at all. Seems like a win for everyone, really. Quentin’s cousins know an adult is watching the kids, the kids and Q enjoy themselves, I enjoy seeing him happy. What’s your problem with it?” 

“He’s barely an adult,” Molly mutters. Eliot ignores her, because he tries to behave around Quentin’s Muggle relatives and sometimes ignoring is the best he can do on that score. But, you know, if she trips on her way out of the den, that throw rug was a little rumpled, totally natural.

Later, the party is finally starting to wind down and Eliot, who had been deep in a conversation about how Quentin’s cousin Marissa has all the wrong opinions about Broadway - and she’s been trying to convince him that his were all wrong - goes looking for his boyfriend. It’s late enough, they can leave, and Quentin isn’t with the kids anymore which often does not bode well. 

He hears Quentin’s voice coming from the kitchen and heads that way in time to hear Q say “ - so, anyway, I just wanted you to know. Because I know you think I’m still a kid, but I’m, this is it, for good.” 

“I don’t think you’re a child, Quentin. You’re sure?” 

“You keep asking me that. Never been more sure of anything.” 

“Well, good luck.” 

What is that about? Rather than get caught eavesdropping, Eliot backs up and then comes back down the hall humming, sticking his head through the doorway. “Hey, Q, we’ve got a bit of a drive, ready to head out?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Quentin says, and he and his mother share a perfunctory hug before he slips past Eliot, murmuring that he needs to get his coat. Eliot glances up to find Carla looking at him with an oddly thoughtful expression. 

“Have a good holiday, Eliot,” she says. 

“You too,” Eliot says, and follows Quentin, a little bewildered. Well, he’s sure he’ll find out eventually.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Christmas itself is a lot better than his mother’s party, but then that’s no surprise really. Quentin doesn’t like going to those, but it’s a tradition, a habit, and even with occasional panic attacks afterwards he usually feels better when he does go. It’s like he can mark something off his mental checklist, and feel a little more settled for it. 

But Christmas, well. Christmas is for their actual family. Well, Christmas and the final night of Hanukkah, which luckily coincide. 

“Why do you like this one again? Kind of bleak for the holidays, isn’t it?” Kady asks from where she and Alice are at the kitchen counter. Kady was teaching Alice and Quentin both to play dreidel earlier but now it’s just the two of them at it for stakes he thinks involve spellcasting, Quentin having been dragged over to the couch to squish in on one side of Eliot while Margo takes the other. 

“What?” Quentin asks, a little distracted by the way Eliot is absently petting his hair.

Kady waves her free hand at the TV. “I mean, I get that you and Julia have your tradition of watching them all every year, but this one is your favorite?” 

“Don’t ask me,” Eliot says before Quentin can answer. “I never even saw this one until Q made us watch it the first time. Some of the other claymations, yes, this one no.”

“Hey, The Little Drummer Boy is a good movie,” Quentin defends himself, laughing. “It is kinda sad though, yeah. Actually, I liked the carol best first, I like the message.”

“I try to tune out the Christmas carols, can’t manage it with shit like Jingle Bells but I mostly missed this one?” Kady points out. “So what’s the message of Little Drummer Boy? Does his family get killed in the song too? Because that’s kind of fucked up, Q.” 

“No, you want The Christmas Shoes if you want weirdly tragic caroling. That also has a TV movie that my aunt was weirdly obsessed with,” Margo says. “Live-action, or it would have been even creepier than I think it was.” 

“You know, you need to let a guy answer,” Quentin says. “OK, so the message of Little Drummer Boy, right. So the wise men are at the birth of Jesus, et cetera, they bring fancy gifts. But this kid, he’s poor, so he can’t do that. Instead, he plays music because that’s what he can do, and it’s the only gift that actually gets a response from the baby. Which, ok, it’s a baby, that makes sense, but I just like the idea of it.” 

“The little thing matters more than the big one,” Julia says from where she’s cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch near Quentin’s legs. She has Chaya in her lap and no blue contacts today, silver demigoddess eyes actually shimmering a little. “Q was really into it as a kid, he used to grumble about Nativity scenes never including the drummer boy.” 

“Yeah, but you were the one who got mad at any picture of Santa’s reindeer that didn’t include Rudolph,” Quentin reminds her. 

“Hey, he saved the damn day, they should acknowledge him!” Julia blinks. “Jesus, Eliot, what did you put in this eggnog?” 

“Don’t look at me, Wicker, I did not put enough rum in to get you drunk unless you had a lot of it.”

“I liked Rudolph’s Shiny New Year, but Charlie liked The Life and Times of Santa Claus. That one’s less popular than Santa Claus is Coming to Town, but they’re both origin movies. Before superheroes were getting them, Santa got two for some reason,” Alice says. It’s the first time she’s been able to get here for Christmas, the Library finally leveling out some, and Quentin smiles over at her. He tries to remember if she’s ever brought up Charlie so casually before - he doesn’t think so, but he doesn’t comment. 

“My dad liked them all, he’s the one who got me and Jules watching them - on Christmas Eve with hot chocolate and cookies when we were kids,” he says instead, trying to offer a similar kind of memory. He has hot chocolate now, actually - spiked with Kahlua because Eliot insisted, but he’s never much liked eggnog and hot chocolate feels more like Christmas to him anyway. 

“Yeah, I was allowed to spend almost all of Christmas Eve with them from when I was six,” Julia adds. “It was always Chips Ahoy and hot chocolate too, because Q can cook a few things but his dad couldn’t cook or bake anything. He tried cookies the one year but they were very charcoaled. So we stuck to Chips Ahoy after that.” 

Later, they have carols playing instead, Eliot and Alice are talking about something involving ward structure - they’re both tipsy and it’s kind of hilarious, but Quentin lost the thread of it all about ten minutes ago, so he wanders into the kitchen where Kady is leaning back against the counter with a glass of water in hand. 

“So, get the ring?” she asks in an undertone. 

“Yeah, Margo helped,” Quentin murmurs back, absently rubbing his compass rose tattoo. He has more stars now too, enough that the compass rose isn’t the only tattoo on his left arm anymore. “How’d Alex do covering my class, by the way? She thought it went well, and the baby hedges didn’t complain, but…” 

“We can probably move her into full-time teaching soon, let her get another few covers under her belt. Nate wants to talk to you about that carpentry spell, by the way.” 

“Mm,” Quentin hums, pouring himself a glass of water. “I’ll call him after New Year, work out an appointment.” 

Across the room, Margo and Julia of all people are sitting next to each other, heads bent close over their phones. “Think I should be worried about them conspiring?” he asks, and Kady snorts. 

“I think you and your boyfriend should both be worried about that,” she says, and there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes that makes Quentin very suspicious, but he’s a little tipsy himself and not up for an interrogation just now.

Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something.

  
  


<><><>

  
  


Their New Year’s tradition actually started with Brian and Nigel. Or, rather, with one of the reasons they wanted this apartment. The building has a rooftop garden, which is nice but not something Eliot and Quentin typically use during the spring or summer because that’s when their neighbors are up there. They’re friendly enough to the neighbors, but it’s still hard, sometimes, to find common ground with people who aren’t part of the magical world. 

But Brian had loved the idea, and Nigel had been the one to realize they could see fireworks from up here. By then, he’d had to deal with the crowds because Brian wanted to see the Fourth of July fireworks in person, not on TV. The idea of being able to see them, but not be squashed, had been very appealing.

Eliot, for his part, likes fireworks well enough. Quentin likes them more than he does, although they both think magic can do better than the standard show these days. But that first New Year’s, after everything, it had seemed like a declaration, in the way the coming of a new year is theoretically supposed to be and rarely ever is. Like the celebration was for them, because they survived and they actually had a chance to be happy now. 

Eliot set them up with champagne and a warming spell around the little table, that first year. The second year, Quentin spread a blanket between the flower beds instead, but kept the warming spell. Eliot still brought the champagne, but Quentin brought the maple bread he’d learned to make after several disastrous attempts. The flavors went a little weird together, but not a bad weird, somehow. The second year was also when they added a silencing spell, so they could see the fireworks but not hear them, they could talk instead.

This year, they keep the blanket and the spells, but Eliot adds a cushioning charm so it’s more comfortable against the hard ground. “Good idea,” Quentin says, settling cross-legged on the blanket. 

“I have them occasionally,” Eliot jokes. He can feel the ring box tucked inside his vest pocket, and tries to settle. Not now, it’s too soon. 

“Sometimes,” Quentin laughs, but there’s something, a nervous edge that Eliot picks up even with his own nerves distracting him. For a moment, he wonders if Julia spilled the beans, but no, she promised that she wouldn’t, and he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t go back on that. 

They have the maple bread Quentin made, just like last year, but this time Eliot did not bring champagne, and he brought something else too. Back when they were just magical grad students, they’d found themselves both up with insomnia, and on one such occasion this had somehow turned into making vanilla cupcakes at three in the morning on a Tuesday. So he has two vanilla cupcakes as well.

On a different occasion it had involved spiked hot chocolate, but Eliot has a reason for not including that. Because he found a sparkling plum wine, and decided that, this year, that was a better bet than champagne. Normally, Eliot would never have a mix like this - maple and vanilla and plum, there’s no style to it, no careful matching. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not about that. 

If you’d asked him back before all this, how he’d go about a proposal, first he would have laughed his ass off at the idea that he’d ever be proposing. But, once he decided to play along with such a ridiculous hypothetical, he would have gone on about a grand gesture designed to make the boy in question all but swoon. But that’s - it’s not - 

It’s fun. It’s still fun, it is _absolutely_ one of Eliot’s little joys to be over-the-top romantic sometimes because Quentin gets adorably flustered about it. And also exasperated, in a fond way that ends with them both laughing. But this is real, and the thing about real is that it’s a lot messier. It’s things that don’t fit, and this - 

Eliot remembers Quentin with icing on his nose as the sun came up in the Cottage kitchen as the first moment when he realized he might be in trouble. He remembers the taste of plum wine when they kissed on the Mosaic that night. The maple bread, well, that’s Quentin’s idea, but Eliot remembers how pleased he’d been the first time it came out well. 

And… There’s a little of Brian and Nigel here too, because they were the first ones to like the rooftop setting. It seems only fair they get a nod too.

“Hey, try this,” Quentin says, and Eliot finds himself eating a bite of maple bread with icing off the cupcake. He nips at Quentin’s fingers too, just to make him squeak, then wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. Quentin goes as easily as he always does - always _did_ , from the beginning. 

“Hmm. You’ll have to try making iced bread next time,” he says, laughing.

“Is that a thing?” 

“You could make it a thing.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep it in mind. So that’s not champagne this time, what brought that about?” Quentin asks as the first firework goes up. “I thought you said anything else was a travesty on New Year’s unless it was sparkling juice for people who didn’t drink.” 

“This is sparkling wine, so it’s still within the rules, but that’s not…” Eliot trails off, and just fills their glasses with the dark fizzing liquid instead, handing Quentin his as the sky lights with color. He watches Quentin take a sip, watches his eyes go wide as he recognizes the taste, the fireworks reflected in his startled gaze. 

“Eliot -?” 

Eliot takes Quentin’s glass and sets it down with his own. Then he draws back enough so that he’s across from Quentin, and they’re both already sitting down so he doesn’t go on one knee. He just takes Quentin’s left hand in his instead, brushing a thumb over where a copper wedding ring lived in another life. 

_“El.”_

Eliot looks back up at Quentin, and the fireworks he’s ignoring must be red and gold just now, because those are the colors Quentin is lit up by, staring at Eliot like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening but he does know he doesn’t believe it. Eliot’s hands aren’t steady, but his magic is, so he floats the ring box out of his pocket, letting it hover in the air between them while he holds Quentin’s hand in both of his. A flick of a thought and the box opens, Quentin making a tiny startled sound when he sees the ring inside.

The light goes blue and green like the stones in the ring as Eliot takes a deep breath. Quentin is still just staring at him, wide-eyed and smiling and it’s a little like - it’s - he rehearsed this and can’t remember a goddamn thing - 

But maybe he doesn’t need to. “The box here is giving me away, huh? I had a plan, by the way, I knew exactly what I was going to say, and now it’s all fallen apart because you’re _looking at me._ Should have known, been that way since you thought I was a hallucination. That first day, I remember, I grabbed your hand, and part of me knew already, knew what you’d be to me just from how easily our hands fit together. I wanted you from the moment I saw you, and I’ve loved you since the day you put a crown on my head. You were right - in any life, we work. And all I want is to keep living that, for the rest of our lives. So, Q, will you marry me?” 

The silence doesn’t worry Eliot, because he knows Quentin, knows that the tears spilling down his cheeks will rob him of speech for a moment or two. But Eliot is not expecting the breathless laughter, the way Quentin swipes at the tears with his free hand. “Q?” 

“Yes, Eliot, God, of course, _yes_ , it’s just that -” And Quentin laughs again, bright and watery and giddy, and gently pulls his hand from Eliot’s grasp so that he can reach for his sleeve and -

Even in the multicolored light from the fireworks still going over their heads, Eliot catches the shimmer of magic before - Quentin holds up a ring box, flipping it open to reveal an emerald-and-sapphire ring that doesn’t match the one Eliot picked out, but will complement it. 

“It’s just that I was going to ask you tomorrow,” Quentin explains with a giddy helpless smile, and then Eliot is laughing too, he can’t help it. He’s laughing until he’s suddenly got a lapful of giddy nerd, Quentin tackling him and kissing him till they’re both breathless. 

“I think we were set up,” Eliot murmurs in Quentin’s ear when they’ve collected themselves a little, curled together on their blanket. “Because I asked your best friend for help, did you ask mine?”

“Yep. And I saw them looking all conspiratorial on Christmas, I’ll bet that’s what this is about.” 

“Do we get revenge or thank them?” Eliot asks, and Quentin hums, turning his head to nuzzle Eliot’s neck. Eliot strokes his fingers over Quentin’s hair. 

“Both, I think,” Quentin finally says, then sits up. He reaches for the ring he brought, and smiles as he reaches for Eliot’s hand. Eliot grins, and lets Quentin slip the ring on his finger. He asked, so Quentin gets to do this first. But then it’s his turn to reach for a box, and put Quentin’s ring on him. 

Eliot tangles their fingers together so the rings are close together, and with his free hand shapes a quick tut to send bright little lights dancing over their heads now that the fireworks have stopped. The silver and emerald and sapphire catch the light, a matched set just like - 

_Well,_ Eliot thinks, looking up to see Quentin smiling at him in the golden light. _Just like we are._

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me at eidetictelekinetic.tumblr.com or on Twitter at @Fae_Boleyn!


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